Scars

Scars. Our visual memories of harder times. The harder the memory, the worse the scar. We all have them. Some are embarrassing, and we’ll hide them like our hobbies. Doll collecting, or playing Harry Potter with a wand you bought from Sky Mall (for $39.95!). Other scars, we’re ok with. Only through time have we become ok with them. It’s the deep scars that we hide the longest. The ones where even time passing doesn’t change their depth on our skin. Scars are the tattoos we never wanted, but can’t get rid of. Their embarrassing marking on our skin leaves the print of some foreign memory we can’t change, and are to weak to let go. Like getting the tattoo of a penis across your forhead one drunken night. Can we call that regret? At least you’ll never get drunk enough to do that again. (Hopefully). 

If scars are memories then they can’t all be bad. Or at least they can’t all be considered mistakes. No one wants to make a mistake, so let’s play Positive Pete and say they were “Learning Experiences”. Now, that sounds better, doesn’t it? When you say it’s a learning experience, we all know that’s code for “If there was something I could erase, it’d be that...”,  but then again, had it not happened, you would’ve never learned not to do that now wouldn’t you? Like when a child has to touch that red-hot stove, just because it looks so awesomely bright! Then of course you’re left with a crying toddler and a burnt hand. That was a good “Learning Experience.” (Hopefully you only touched the stove once.)

But if you touched it more than once, don’t worry, you’re an idiot. And here’s why: When you touch that stove more than once, (because the same alluring bright colors have sucked you in like gravity), you’re failing to remember what happened the last time: you burnt your hand, dumbass. Now, maybe you have alzheimer’s disease, and in that one case, I apologize for calling you an idiot, and a dumbass. But if you don’t, and you really do just have that short-term memory span, then I’d invest in some brain-enhancers. Sudoku perhaps? Or maybe you should just stop watching the trash on the E! Channel (you did notice the exclamation point though right?) and put down that “In Touch Weekly” magazine. I’m sure knowing what Jennifer Anniston wore to the beach is incredibly useful in day-to-day conservation (hopefully they provided pictures), but the sad truth is your knowledge of Hollywood relationships won’t help you anymore then it’ll help a retail cashier understanding String Theory in all it’s glory.

So the next time that DeVotchka song comes on the radio and you’re short-term memory is wondering “Where have I heard this before?” Just know you probably heard it on My Little Sunshine, and yes, the lyrics are a bit dark and Nick Urata is a strange, strange singer. (They’re from Denver by the way, so all you Denver-Folk should already be on their bandwagon, and if you’re not, trying placing that burnt hand back on the stove one more time to see if it feels different this time). Or, go buy a Sudoku book, or any book for that matter. I’m talking something hardback with more than 100 pages and no pictures - start with that and progress naturally. That pile of mush between our ears has actual uses, and expanding capabilities, so rather than fill it with useless information (did you see what Angelina Jolie was wearing the other day? OMG! Or, “Is this that DeVotchka song from My Little Sunshine?”), fill it with the memory of that burnt hand on the stove, that way you can chalk it up as a “Learning Experience”.

Otherwise, we’ll continue to fill our bodies with frightening body art of unwanted scars, hopefully none of them turn out looking like detailed genitals that we can’t wash off with soap. Damn those tequila shots... Nobody wants to have that moment where you’re both de-robing in anticipation of some steamy sexual experience before you realize one of you has a Hanson’s tattoo on their ass or a Ricky Martin face across their lower back. Moment: Ruined. But hey, you could count that as a “Learning Experience”, right?